Your Head's Footnotes
by Juniorstarcatcher
Summary: Magic has a price. Power has a price. To have either, one has to be willing to give up what is most precious. Tom Riddle wanted Magic beyond belief. Tom Riddle wanted power beyond rebellion. And to grasp it, he had to let her go.


"Class dismissed!" Dumbledore rings out in his usually cheerful tone.

The room erupts into its usual chatter. Discussion about the war and the recent air raid scares, the latest jazz record out of America and the latest shoe style out of Paris. Parchment shuffles and chairs scrape as students break away from the singularly exhausting class that is Albus Dumbledore's. From his seat in the back, Tom Riddle slides his books into his arms and turns to the young woman in the seat beside him. He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off from the very man he is trying so desperately to escape.

"Miss Everett?"

The dark haired woman to whom Tom Riddle was just about to begin conversation with looks up from her napsack. Books nearly spilling out of the stuffed leather, she reshoulders the material and squeaks.

"Professor?" She responds.

Tom Riddle does not like this.

"May I have a word with you?" The professor continues with a smile.

He does not like this one bit.

"Of course," she mutters, her voice barely contained.

Ophelia Everett has never been in trouble a moment in her life. Keeping her head down, her eyes forward and her ears open, she's a diligent, if overlooked, student. A professor's sudden interest in her sets her heart racing and her palms sweating. Jaw locking, Tom gives her a slight nod before taking his leave from the room. He wishes to have as few encounters as possible with Professor Albus Dumbledore.

But, just because he does not remain in the room does not mean he doesn't listen. A bit of wandless magic as he exits the room affords him the conversation to be heard outside of the room the moment he shuts the door.

"Would you like to have a seat?" He hears Professor Dumbledore ask.

A bit of shuffling. A skirt folding beneath stockinged thighs and a chair sliding against stone. Then, a tense silence.

"Have I done something wrong, Professor?" She asks.

More silence.

"I do not wish to alarm you, Miss Everett. Lemon drop?"

He offers her his favorite candy and it is everything Tom can do to keep himself from rolling his eyes outside of the classroom door. How singularly absurd. Surprising even himself, Tom is mildly proud when Ophelia turns down the professor's offer.

"Very well," a candy crunches beneath an old man's jaw as Tom continues to listen, "It has come to my attention that you have been forming a relationship Mister Tom Riddle."

Again, silence. Ophelia cannot find words to respond to what can only be described as a threat of some kind.

"Do you often take such interest in the love lives of your students, professor?"

There is a smile in her voice, Tom can tell, but it doesn't give him any sort of peace about this conversation. His knuckles are steadily turning white as they grip ever tighter around the bindings of his hand-me-down textbooks.

"No, Miss. Everett. Just yours."

That sucks the life straight from the room. Ophelia Everett has never seen Dumbledore this stoic before. The professor continues.

"Tom has been prone to… Irrational behavior, let's call it. I would simply advise caution where he is concerned."

The very boy in question, listening at a magically amplified keyhole, has to bite his lip to keep from running into the room and defending his own honor. But, instead, he waits. And listens for her loyalty.

His hope receives silence and then the voice of Dumbledore once more.

"Have you noticed any such behavior?"

The skirt on her dress ruffles and the chair cuts across the floors once more as she stands, blushing all the way. Keeping her head down, her eyes cast toward the carpet below her feet, she grinds her jaw as her heart jumps the starting gate and runs a race without her.

"You're being ridiculous. Tom Riddle is a good man, professor."

A barely audible sigh is heard from the man behind the desk.

"May I go now?" Ophelia asks, tugging at the hem of her sweater.

The professor considers her for a moment before standing to shake her hand. His eyes are full of meaning that only Ophelia can see.

"Yes, but I would, again, advise caution, Miss Everett. Great caution indeed."

Tom Marvolo Riddle is a master manipulator, a skill he has not yet used on Miss Ophelia Everett. He hasn't had to, anyway. From the day she wandered in to the library and found a seat next to him, he found himself pulling her puppet strings. And he found himself entranced by her. Entranced by her smile and her eyes and the fact that he could pull on the puppet strings all he wanted, but the girl would not budge unless she willed it so. But, today, he is fuming. How dare the professor barge into his personal life and how dare she not stand up for him? How dare she not storm from the room and report him for inappropriate behavior? They are all out to get him, he decides. And it's time for this little infatuation of his to end. Rage seeps from his pours, but he manages to match her stride as she leaves the classroom and plaster a false smile on his face, feigning levity.

"What could he possibly want to talk to you about?" He asks.

She jumps a bit. He's always like that, Tom. Sneaking up on her, popping out of nowhere. She should be used to it by now, but she can't ever seem to accept his magician act as a fact of her abnormal life. For the briefest of moments, she hesitates at his question. But she recovers as gracefully as she can, tucking a piece of hair back into its pin.

"Nothing," she says.

To anyone else walking by, this may have seemed like normal relationship banter. The woman avoiding talking about her feelings and the man pursuing it. But, anyone else passing by would then have noticed that it is Ophelia Everett and Tom Riddle. And they simply don't do lover's spats.

"Don't lie to me," he commands.

She does not bow to his commands, though; his puppet strings are no good on her. With a wave of her hand, she scoffs and forces her lips to twitch into what she hopes looks like a smile. Suddenly, she's feeling ill. A sheen of sweat begins to form on her forehead and the room is spinning. She knows the man walking beside her. And she knows what he is capable of.

"It's a trifle. Hardly worth thinking about."

Voice faltering, she keeps her pace as they descend toward the Slytherin common room. Tom continues the manipulation, feigning as long as he can at genuine interest.

"Then why take the time to keep you after lessons?"

A shrug is the first response he receives as her annoyance builds. The tempo of the room's rotation picks up and she has to grip the strap of her schoolbag a bit tighter to maintain balance.

"I don't know, Tom. Ask him," she snaps.

It's a rudeness that he normally wouldn't tolerate, but for Ophelia, he always makes exceptions.

"If it's a trifle, why won't you just tell me what he wanted?"

She isn't half bad at manipulation herself, either. Allowing her voice to drop to a soft croon, she plays on everything she knows about the man at her side.

"You have so much on your mind. I can't imagine you'd want to hear what someone like him has to say to me."

Now, Tom is sick of the game. His facade dropping like a shattering champagne glass, he grabs the strap of her bag and pulls her into the nearest corner, wedging her between the stone wall and his uniformed body. Face contorting into something monstrous and snarling, his voice drops to a muted roar. Betrayal colors his features, a betrayal he is trying so hard to keep her from seeing. Betrayal implies that she means something to him. And Ophelia cannot know that she is anything more than an occasional companion.

"You think I didn't hear?"

Realization flickers across her face, but in a moment it is gone. She is not finished playing the game, even as she feels Tom's hand create a bruising grip around her wrist.

"What?" She asks, smiling as though she has no idea what is going on.

But Tom has lost it. In his mind, those words ring out…. Irrational behavior…. Advise Caution…. They make him sick.

"You think I'm stupid?" He spits at her.

She knows the game is lost. But she cannot open her mouth to speak. Tom shakes her.

"I want to hear it from you. What garbage you stood there and listened to, you poor excuse of a woman."

And, before she knows it, she's ripped her hands from his, already feeling the bruises coming on, as she pushes herself from the cage his body has created around her. She faces him, one last time.

"He was warning me about you. I told him he was being ridiculous. I told him you were a decent man. But he just kept warning me," her eyes are stars ablaze and her voice is a steady lash of a whip against what is left of his heart, "And now I understand why."

She leaves and he only ever sees her again in passing. There is no more long nights in the library spent researching and sharing private jokes. There is no more watching her with interest as she struggles over the latest shifting puzzle from _The Prophet_. Once again, he is alone. Completely and totally alone. And Tom Marvolo Riddle will spend the rest of his life after that moment, the moment he lost her, wondering how one little decision to listen at key holes could have so affected his entire life.


End file.
